The Wildest Heart by Rosemary Rogers Read Free Book Online Page B

to brushing my hair. If I had a thought at that moment it was, strangely, that I hated my mother even more than I despised her husband. This was the man she had left my father for—this man who had so little self-control that he had taken her own daughter by force only moments before, and now proposed to make her his mistress! This same man, who had seemed so arrogant and overbearing at the beginning, but now pleaded with me for warmth and a response to his bestial embraces. He could have overpowered me again by sheer brute strength, but no. He wanted more. He wanted response—the feigned passion of a whore! Was that the only way a woman could dominate a man? How easy it would be to exploit this man. Yes, and to make my mother suffer too! If I wanted to…
    â€œFor God’s sake, girl, aren’t you going to say anything to me?” He was pleading again, eyes almost haggard now. “What’s done is done. I would have preferred it to have happened differently, but I had had too much to drink at the club, and when Tom came storming in—”
    For the first time since Sir Edgar had entered my room, a spark of anger pierced my defensive shell of reserve. “Don’t speak to me of Tom Wilkinson! To think you sent him to me, knowing I’d be alone—to think you considered him good enough for me!”
    â€œNo, girl, no! But how was I to know! By God, I think I’d kill that young pup if I thought he’d touched you! Didn’t I just say I’d make it all up to you, for everything? Listen—” his voice became feverish, his hands touched my shoulders again as if he could not help himself—“listen, you shall have everything, anything you want, do you hear? Fine, fashionable clothes, jewels—would you like your own horse to ride in the park? A small carriage? I’m a rich man.”
    â€œAnd how will you explain your sudden generosity to—your wife?”
    Deliberately I hesitated before my choice of a word, and he flushed dully.
    â€œDon’t turn hard, girl. Fanny—well, you don’t know her, do you? She—she’s not the same. Always those headaches, dragging me off to dull dinners.”
    â€œDon’t you mean that my mother is no longer young—and I am?”
    He could find nothing to say to refute my blunt statement, and I moved away from him.
    â€œPlease, I’m rather tired now. I think I would like a bath.”
    I was trying my power over him already, and we both knew it.
    He looked at me, at my body, and I saw his shoulders sag.
    â€œI’ll—I’ll send Jenks in to you. She won’t talk—owes me too much. I’ll have her move you to the blue room. It’s larger, and has a view of the park. And—we’ll talk tomorrow?”
    â€œPerhaps,” I said coldly. And for the moment, that was the end of it. He left my room and I was alone again. Automatically, I took my one, ugly flannel dressing gown from the wardrobe and draped it around myself.
    â€œVanity, Rowena! It was your own vanity that caused this to happen.”
    Why did I suddenly imagine I could hear my grandfather’s voice? Deliberately I shut it out. He had educated my mind, but taught me nothing about the world as it was. I had realized, in the space of an afternoon, that I was ignorant in many other ways. All of my education had not taught me to get along with other human beings, any more than my birth and breeding had protected me. For the first time, I realized that I was completely alone, with only myself to depend upon. And yet, somehow I would survive—and I would use any methods I could think of to do so.

Two
    How can one describe the passing of time? Light and shade—patterns seen through a kaleidoscope—
    I blossomed forth, like a butterfly from a cocoon, taking, as one of my many later admirers said, all London by storm. I’m sure he exaggerated, although my sudden transformation from